Rumour
by drakeisugly
Summary: Bella is bored with her everyday life, in her head she substitutes it for a make-believe one - until one night, every rumour she's ever heard about Edward forces it's way into her reality.
1. Chapter 1

**.one.**

There's this rumour going around about how I once dated this guy. He's tall. He smokes. He has a penchant being on his own. There was this one time we were sitting on the stoop of Mary-Alice's front porch and I snatched a cigarette from between his teeth. He bit down onto the paper and the Tabaco and swore so grittily at me I almost jumped out of my skin. And for a minute there, fear made my backbone straighten, and then he smiled at me. His whole face crinkled in delight at my mischief. One minute we were smiling and the next he forgot about me. He walked back inside to the party without a word, our moment half-erased.

I didn't date him.

I don't think anyone dated him. Or maybe there were older girls or foreign girls that we never heard of that got to some base with him, somewhere, because every other girl in this shit town is ready to assume that he is nothing but experienced. They can see it in his face. His laughter lines. His forehead lines. He's not far off 25 but somehow he has all these lines that make him look older than what he is. His mental age is cloudy. He can't determine when he grew up – he's always been this way. And this is what makes him desirable. The fact that he's never doubted/his knowledge permeates/he's a walking book.

I have an obsession because of that rumour. I make believe in my own head that we dated and that he dumped me for some married woman with lines deeper than his – she's married because in my fantasy I'm as betrayed as I can be, and he's an ass, and I'm super dramatic.

The other day at the mini-mart I stalked him while he bought six packs of Ramen, a six pack of beer, and a top up on smokes. I bought a packet just to see what it felt like. I rested menthol cigarettes between my lips and lit up using the gas hob. I was cool for 3 minutes, and then I turned on the extractor and told my roommate I burnt toast.

"You have a zit. Right there. There." Rose is pointing at my cheek. "Want me to paint it off?"

I cover my face, because that's not obvious at all. "I never point out your face flaws."

"Comparing my character to yours isn't changing shit."

So, right… I'm here in the back our shopping mall's parking lot with this girl, leaning on her boyfriend's car because we're waiting for him. He's buying weed. He smokes a lot of weed. I've absorbed so much of it into my skin you'd think I smoked too. Hey, maybe I should. I'm on the verge of wanting to.

Rose is playing with her chest. It's big. Like handful big and just imagining myself with a chest like hers makes my body tip forward. She isn't subtle. I think that's why I like her. I know what to expect. I like her as a friend because she can't be anything than what she is. No changing colours. She's a solid red on my dial.

"Mary-Alice phoned me last night asking about my brother. I'm scared as shit that he'll fall for her and I'll be stuck with her. She's the biggest leech I've ever met."

Mary-Alice is a sometime friend. She's popular by association. She's his cousin. The guy I'm supposed to have dated, and somehow I can't piece it together – how on earth they share the same blood line. He's him and she's this thing… this popular thing that is squeaky and narcissistic to a fault. Mary-Alice used to fat. And yeah, I know it's a mean word, but it's the word that she used to call herself, like she was overweight or whatever. She found out she was allergic to glucose and diary and wheat and a ton of stuff I can't be bothered to recall. She cut it all out and shrunk down to a size small. And now, _'she's hot!' _Her ego is well hidden at times, and at other times, not so much.

Rose hates Alice. I don't. I think Alice could be useful. And I don't know if that makes me a shit, but every friend group needs a loud-mouth, every friend group needs someone who's in other people's business… I'm secretly rooting for Jasper to like Mary-Alice back.

When Rose's boyfriend comes back he looks broke. I bet they told him that the weed in his pocket is super potent and it's worth a healthy dollar. It's probably mixed with shitty tea-leaves.

"Ugggh, can we leave now?" she asks.

"Don't act like you're not smoking this with me, woman."

"Whatever, Riley, we've been hanging in the lot for the past 10 minutes and my boredom is about as high as I want to get."

And five minutes into our drive back to Rose's, they're half-stoned. I'm inhaling. I'm inhaling as much as I can because I'm scared shitless to admit that I want a hit - anything to take away my fantasy of no longer being a rumour.

* * *

Community college. I'm studying social studies. I'm planning to be a social worker. I'm following everyone else because I'm too lazy to come up with my own dreams. I'm copying useless notes from the whiteboard and acting studious – I'm not in the slightest, but hey, I like to pretend. I wish to God I was smart enough to understand that life is not as mysterious as I want to be.

I get partnered with Mary-Alice. She shuffles close to me, unbearably close. She scribbles down a note in chubby cursive.

_I lost my virginity last night._

I make big eyes and turn. What. Did she really? She'd only sleep with one guy. She's too obsessed to sleep with another. Oh wow, so she and Jasper banged?

Banged.

"You banged Jasper?" I whisper.

She covers her mouth. Her laughter is spurting out like she can hardly control it. Red face replies with a nod.

"Bang? Bang?!" she whispers back. "Who the fuck says bang anymore, Bella?"

I turn back to whiteboard.

So, Mary-Alice gets her virginity taken by Jasper, and suddenly I feel like a nun.

I wish those rumours were true.

I wish I dated him.

After class she loops her arm in mine and grins. "We're dating now," she says. "We're officially a couple."

* * *

**AN: soz it's not betad**


	2. Chapter 2

**.two. **

There's a party tonight at Mary-Alice's. Mary Alice has a party every time her father is out of town. He doesn't seem to like around here much (no one does), but something tells me there's more to his disappearances than she lets on. I wasn't going until I heard that he might be there. Call me stupid, but I'm hoping Edward notices me again – or maybe I'll make him notice me again. Rosalie finds it amusing; she's watching me try on the second of my three outfits.

"I've never seen you so desperate."

"Shut up," I say - but then I think that maybe I am, and I hate that feeling. I throw my top to the floor and fall back to my bed in my bra and track pants.

"Go like that," she says. "You'll get noticed for sure."

I chuck a sock at her. I'm not a pathetic person, so I rise up, throw on something that is all the way casual and decide to make sure my face is painted and my hair is full.

"You look hot – I'd do you."

I run my fingers through loose curls one more time. Hot to me is what Rosalie is. My reflection is passable. I'm not lacking in confidence but I'm anxious.

"Hot people are usually stupid." And I know that isn't true. It's the farthest thing from the truth, but I'm bantering with her in order to make it seem as though I don't care.

"I'm hot," she tells me, twirling her hair around one finger. "I'm not stupid." And then she laughs. "We sound like a bunch of assholes."

We probably are.

* * *

The music is loud. The music is appropriate. It's rap and the beat is penetrating the floorboards. There are a bunch of random kids in the far corner bobbing their heads; I think they're the only ones in here with any rhythm. I don't call dry-humping each other rhythm – in an opposite corner that's what's happening - dry sex with girls and guys that probably consider themselves as relevant. Not really. They're just here to hook up and be ignored by everyone else. We spot Rosalie's brother sitting on a couch, sipping from a red cup. He nods towards us and goes back to sipping. Kids from my social study group sit, lining the bay window that opens up into the garden – their conversations unheard and their laughter muted as a few other unrecognizable kids stand about them jovially swaying and swigging alcohol.

There is a copious amount of beige everywhere. The walls are beige, the floorboards are beige, the furniture… beige. How does everything stay clean? Photos line the wall. Photos of skylines, not family. No ornaments. Maybe Mary-Alice removed them prior to people arriving. It's like she lives in a massive box of no memories.

"Hey, you made it!"

"Chill." Rosalie's hand obstructs Mary-Alice's face. "Where's the bathroom? We need to piss."

We do?

"Oh, there's one down here… but if it's full, you can use mine. My room is the last down the hall. Just make sure no one else follows you."

Rosalie grabs my hand and makes a quick get-away to the second level. "I'm regretting coming here already."

"You don't say." I trip over the stairs she so easily strides over, twice. I buckle the third time and grunt loudly. "Slow down. I'm in uncomfortable shoes."

"As am I… I wonder if her dad has a mirror above his bed." And as she says that, I know we're about to find out. "I bet he does. I bet his walls are exposed brick and he has a sheepskin laying somewhere."

"Jeez."

There's an oriental runner filling the entire domestic runway. It's the only source of decorative colour I can spot. I feel like amateur model that's slightly lost, slightly curious. Spot lights placed evenly on the ceiling light up every part of this second level, everything feels meticulous. Rosalie is tugging at my hand, pulling me along further and further into the deep hallway. I never knew houses in this town could be so big. I spot one picture of Alice as a kid. I spot another of her and at something that looks like a donkey sanctuary. Another of her and her father.

Oh, so this is where the memories are kept.

"Check out the hair," Rose says, pointing to Alice's pigtails. "She looks like a rag doll."

I wish she wouldn't be so mean, but in saying that I can tell that she doesn't mean to be. We end up on the other side of a huge wooden door. The vibration of the rap rattling on is the only thing signalling a get-together. It almost feels as though we've entered another reality. The air conditioner is buzzing and the TV is on. Everything is a pure white, pure to the point of the room feeling blue.

"Shit." We whisper in unison, but that doesn't stop Rosalie. She's relentless. A bull. Call me crazy, but that's what makes our friendship eternal. I could never escape her. We walk on the balls of our feet, our shoes making no sounds against the plushness of the white fluffy rug beneath them. My heart jumps out of my fitted top.

"Someone's in the bathroom, let's get out of here."

"What? No way." Her hand fans me off. "What if it's one of these losers from downstairs? I'm in the mood to freak someone out."

We both could hear the shower. I was stiff behind Rose whilst she was moving from side to side contemplating whether or not to open the door. She twirls around to face me, her pretty sundress fanning around her like a carousel. "Knock," she says.

"Hell no."

"Well, fine." And with that she pushes the handle to the door down and barges in. "Hellooo."

I should find this funny, but my heart rate is increasing – because laid out on the expansive twin sink is a pair of black jeans, a dirty white t-shirt… I know those. I think I know those pretty well.

The shower dies, the glass door is still foggy. I can see the silhouette of a tall, lean person freeze.

"Oh my God," I say. "Sorry. Sorry." I pull Rosalie away and she just laughs. The person behind the shower is silent, until I hear,

"Pass me a fucking towel." Oh yea, that's him alright.

Rosalie passes him one from the radiator through the crack of the shower door and his voice gets gruffer by the second. "What the hell are you doing up here? Why the fuck are you in this room?"

He sounds angry. But he sounds controlled. I'm backing out of the bathroom as Rosalie turns to follow covering her mouth to muffle herself.

"We spilled… cola on ourselves, we needed… to wash our dresses in the sink." She's pushing me out. I guess she plans on escaping before he does. We just about make it to the huge wooden door before the voice is no longer acoustically sound. Now it's humdrum, it's flat in its tone. It's pissed.

"Fucking Isabella," he says.

_Shit._

"What's wrong with you?"

I don't know really.

Rosalie is at my side now. I'm full on facing him whilst he just stands there wet… in a towel. _Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't check him out. Don't check him out_. As if my conscious could police me. Rosalie doesn't seem fazed; she's full on staring at him… dead in the abs.

And smiling.

"Sorry." I manage.

"For?" he asks, his voice piqued.

I have no clue if he's fucking with me. I have no idea if he's as pissed as I think he should be. What type of people purposely interrupts a shower and then tries to make out like they didn't? My mouth is half open and my palms are sweating. No guy but him has this effect on me. It's stupid. I'm stupid.

"Jesus, Edward, it was just a joke," is what Rosalie says.

He ignores her. It's as if she's vapour. The fog from the bathroom has now invaded my head. I can't for the life of me think of something else to say other than the truth.

"I'm an idiot."

And with that he snorts. "Shut the door behind you."

My heart, it drops, if it were in my stomach… to my ass. I make my way out of the room with my mischief maker of a best friend trawling behind me.

"You're boy-toy is an asshole."

_Really?_

"We're the assholes, Rose."

She shrugs and walks ahead. "I'm thirsty," she says, making her way back to the party.

* * *

**a/n: review? Pretty pls? =)**


End file.
